Shadow of a Heatbeat
by terfle
Summary: Constance doesn't know what lurks in the shadows but will Rochefort be her friend or foe?
1. Chapter 1

Dark figures scuttled across the lower wall and Constance felt her heart quicken. She was sure it was mice and tried not to squeal but it was difficult. She was alone on the streets of Paris and had the feeling that was someone following her. She thought of d'_Artagnan_and prayed for him to keep her safe even though he had no idea where she was.

Rowdy shouting was going on nearby and coming her way and she shrank into the shadows, waiting for them to pass so she could carry on home. But as they drew near, she felt more scuttling by the hem of her dress and she leapt out, stifling her shriek but casting her in the dim light. They made a beeline for her, one of them inappropriately wolf whistling.

'Well hello little lady. Care to have a drink with us?'

'No. No thank you.' Constance tried to back away but the thought of the mice stopped her in her tracks. The men walked towards her and she froze from fright.

'Now what's a pretty lady like you doing on the streets at this time of night?' Asked another. She didn't answer. They sensed fear and pressed to their advantage.

'Can we accompany you anywhere? Like to the nearest pub?' The men sniggered at that and gave her lecherous smiles.

'No thank you.' Her voice shook.

'I can take you to the room upstairs the nearest pub. How about that?' The men laughed uproariously at this uncouth vulgarity and Constance felt like she was going to faint from the fear.

A swish from behind her and her heart jumped.

'Anything I can help with?' Growled a voice behind her. She whipped around to see a man in a black cloak and hat. He stared intently at the men who seemed unfazed by this latest arrival.

'We were just talking to the lady' began one of them.

'I don't see much conversing from her' replied the man. He approached them threateningly, backing them off. 'I'd say you were harassing her. Perhaps you'd like to get along to the nearest pub now. No doubt there are beers waiting to be drunk.'

He picked up one of the metal bars littering the pavement and thumped it into one black gloved hand. They got the hint and hastily left. The rescuer turned to the quaking girl and tipped his hat. It seemed a little lopsided a motion and Constance realised why when the light found his face, one eye was encased in a black leather patch.

She didn't feel brave but thanked him for his service. The one eyed man threw the metal bar down and approached her.

'I despise these kinds of men.'

'As do I' she said. 'I thank you again Monsieur for the intervention.'

'It is no trouble.'

They stood there, the cruel winter night wind whipping their senses to ice. She couldn't think of something to say, only wanting him to stay further. But he spoke first.

'Good night Mademoiselle.' He made as though to turn away and she impulsively caught his arm. 'Thank you. So much' she said again.

He looked at her, not sure what to make of her. He drew back and in a fit of curiosity, asked her for her name.

'It's Constance. Constance Bonacieux.'

His expression changed imperceptibly but she didn't notice. 'I see. And do you know where you are going, Constance?'

'Well I'm heading for home. But I don't feel comfortable on my own.'

'Do you live in your own?'

'No, but my husband isn't home right now.'

The man looked thoughtful. 'If you wish, I can escort you home. I realise that this seems a bit impudent but it is not safe for a lady to be in the streets now.'

'Thank you Monsieur. I would be grateful.' She was, for a strong man to see off any unsavoury characters on the way back.

She held onto his strong arm as she directed the way home, through the winding passageways and between late night traffic. She wasn't far away and before long, they were at her front door.

'Lock the door behind you Madame and wrap up warm. It is a cold night' remarked the stranger.

'Thank you. I hope you get home safely.'

The man gave a short bark of laughter. 'I will do, you can be assured of that.'

She didn't doubt it.


	2. Chapter 2

Constance looked out for the mystery man after that, in the marketplace and around the cathedral but she knew that unless she really needed him, he wouldn't appear. And that would mean walking in the alleyways at night which she wasn't prepared to do. She settled down to waiting for her husband and thinking of her lover. He had promised to send her a message and she grew more anxious as the days passed with no sign of it.

Unbeknown to her, Rochefort was also waiting, but for the next opportune moment. Having made the chance enquiry on the young lady's name, he had sent word and observed her every move. He was certain that she was the one he was looking for, the lady whom d'Artagnan was romantically involved with. If he could get hold of her, he could gain a hold over that wretched new musketeer. He wished her no harm and drew upon many ideas to lure her gently into the trap. The opportunity arose sooner than he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

A bitter Friday night saw Constance wearily warming herself at the fire. No word from anyone and she felt like an old woman wishing her life away. Unaware of the depth of her misery, a lonely tear streamed down her face and soaked her skirt. She curled up in the chair and closed her eyes to make it go away, to lose herself in the darkness of her mind. Without meaning to, she fell asleep as the smouldering embers burned low. The room became cold and desolate and she woke up an hour later to hands like ice and a gentle insistent knocking on the door. Throwing on her shawl, she went to the door in almost darkness, cursing herself for not remembering to get more wood for the stove. Pulling the door back, she was greeted by the stranger with an armful of exactly what she needed, more wood.

'Monsieur!'

He nodded solemnly. 'You seem to have run out of wood. I took the liberty of bringing you more if it is not too forward of me.'

'Oh thank you! Please come in.' Constance was grateful for this intervention. She stepped back and allowed him in. He made short work of stacking some logs on the fire and soon turned to leave. She stopped him with a tentative hand on his arm.

'I can't thank you enough.'

'Just something a home should not be without.'

'Thank you for your kindness. Won't you stay for something to eat?'

'I'd rather not inconvenience you.'

'Not at all, I have nothing to do right now. The least I can do is offer you a drink.' She drew him to the table and sat him down. Going to the cabinet, she took out a bottle of red wine, fetched a wine glass for him. But setting it upon the table she realised that there was barely enough in it for one person. Disappointment showed on her face and he gently questioned her dismay.

'There is only enough for one glass and just about.'

'Then Madame, you drink it. I have a flask.'

'You must think me terribly impolite' she stammered, a blush rising up to her face.

'Not at all. You are a gracious hostess' he assured her quietly, taking out his flask, setting in on the table and pouring out the few drops of wine in the glass. She looked over to the merrily burning hearth and hoped her lover would return to her soon. She felt no unease with the stranger but his presence reminded her of the company she could have had. Turning back, she smiled at him and drank from her glass.


	4. Chapter 4

Constance woke up with a slight headache and a dry mouth, not realising where she was. Opening her eyes into pitch black, she sensed that this wasn't her room. The pillow was luxurious and soft and the sheets thick and warm. There was an unfamiliar perfume on the pillow; something exotic she couldn't place. Drowsiness overtook her again just as she thought she could hear voices just beyond her reach.

She wasn't wrong


	5. Chapter 5

An hour later she opened her eyes to the darkness once more. Her head still muzzy but more alert than before, she raised her head and felt around her. Tentatively swinging her legs over the side Constance made her way slowly around the room, helped by the light from the slightly open door. She puzzled over this, was certain that it had not been open before.

The narrow strip of light was dim; she followed it along to the door. Peeping timidly around, she saw Rochefort sitting with a lady on the worn out sofa. They were talking with their heads together in low voices. Constance could see very little of his companion except her fox red skein of hair looped over her shoulder, which appeared to set her dress alight, a well made dark purple silk. Constance had seen such wonderful dresses on society ladies but this one seemed out of place in this shabby place. Yet she easily rested her hand on Rochefort's arm and they talked like old friends. For a second Constance felt something strange in her, a feeling she'd never felt before, a sharp stab in her heart and then it was gone.

Rochefort glanced up and saw her and abruptly stopped talking. His companion slowly turned her head and observed the girl at the door. Constance found herself staring into a beautiful face with sharp eyes. Constance was sure that she had never seen her before but she got the impression that the lady knew who she was. A discomforting thought. Constance looked to her rescuer for help. He glanced at his friend and back at her, his expression unfathomable.

Milady rose from her place and walked towards her prisoner. 'So you're Constance.'

'How do you know my name?'

'I have my sources.' A slight smile graced her sensuous mouth and Constance couldn't take her eyes off of her. She seemed so regal and yet perhaps a little dangerous at the same time. Her heart quickened as Milady came closer, stopping in front of her. Appraising her bargaining tool, the sophisticate had to admit that d'Artangan had done well with this one. Madame Bonacieux was petite and fresh faced, with clear grey eyes and honey coloured hair.

'What he would do for a pretty woman.'

A slender hand stole out and touched Constance's cheek. A flicker of electricity shot through her and she drew her breath in sharply. Their gaze never left each other as Milady dropped her hand, tawny eyes alert and watchful.

'Where am I?'

'Safe.' Milady turned back to the sofa.

'From what?'

From her reclining pose, Milady peeked over her shoulder. 'Let's call it intervention.' Again the slight smile. There seemed to be genuine amusement in her expression although Constance couldn't be sure it wasn't aimed at her. Feeling unsettled, she looked around her. Now she realised that this place had featured in her recent dream because she was in it. Was this where her rescuer lived? It featured whitewashed walls and scant furniture, most of it falling to pieces.

Rochefort observed his capture uneasily. He hadn't told her his name in case she might know who he was and resist abduction. But things weren't going as planned. Milady had depended on the girl sleeping longer and had put her in her bedroom for the time being until they could transport her elsewhere.

'Do you live here?' She addressed him now. He gave a shrug. 'Sometimes I stay here. It helps to have a base in between jobs.' He didn't bother explaining what his job actually was. It also bothered him slightly that she was becoming attached. He couldn't explain that he couldn't protect her from whatever plans were being made. He had done his bit, delivered the target to Milady and she had to take over the rest. He couldn't afford to concern himself with her, yet he was.

'Do you want to come and sit?' Invited Milady. Constance made her way hesitantly over to the sofa and sat between them, feeling awkward.

'Rochefort, be a gentleman. Offer the lady a drink.'

He obliged, pouring from a half empty bottle of wine next to him. He handed the glass over and motioned for her to drink. Looking over at Milady's vanishing glass of burgundy, she took a sip. Their gaze met once more and Constance was struck by the hints of green and hazel in those opposing eyes. Milady drained her glass and set it on the table next to her. Tipping her head back with a sigh, she closed her eyes and relaxed over the arm of the sofa, leaving Rochefort to make conversation.

'Is that your name?'

He looked startled to be asked.

'Yes.'

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Would it have made much of a difference?' He shrugged in indifference.

'I would have liked to have known your name. You knew mine.'

No answer. He looked away.

'You brought me here, didn't you?'

He acknowledged this with a nod.

'Why am I here?'

'I am not at liberty to say.'

Constance had a terrible feeling that the man she thought was her friend was turning her over to a cruel gaoler.


	6. Chapter 6

'I think I might go back to bed.'

'Go on then.' Milady purred.

Constance stood up to leave; only she remembered that the bed she was going back to wasn't hers. She now knew it to be Milady's.

'I didn't mean...my bed. I just meant...' Milady didn't stifle her smile at the girl's fetchingly pink face. 'It's your bed for the time being. Unless you'd rather sleep on the sofa.'

'No thank you, its fine.' Rochefort must be sleeping on the sofa. She could only guess where Milady would be sleeping.

'I think I'll go now.' She almost ran to the room but didn't close the door. She was paid no attention after that.

'Strange child.' Remarked Milady, stretching like a cat. 'Pretty of course. D'Artagnan has an eye for the pretty ones.'

'You're not so much older than her' observed Rochefort with a teasing glint in his eye.

'A lady never reveals her age' rebuked the socialite. She got up to refill her glass.

'Well you must have been pretty enough to catch his eye so it's a compliment to you also, no?'

'Jealous of his success with the ladies?'

Rochefort laughed. 'I wouldn't wish to be that young fool for anything.'

'I didn't think you would.'

Milady slid her arms around his shoulders and tantalisingly brushed his neck with her lips. He shivered at her touch and closed his eyes to absorb the sensation.

'What are we going to do with her?' He murmured.

'We'll figure that out in the morning' she whispered. He turned his face to meet hers and gave into temptation. Constance peeked round the door again and watched them entwine themselves around each other. She was sure that Milady would be harsh with her rescuer but on the contrary, she was quite gentle.

Milady slipped her hands under Rochefort's shirt and caressed his shoulders whilst seeking his mouth with hers. He responded while slowly sliding the shoulder of her dress off.

Constance knew that she should turn away but her newfound jealousy was keeping her rooted to the spot. She loved d'Artangan, she knew that but Rochefort had saved her from the shadows and she wanted to keep that image of him that way. She didn't trust Milady an inch.

The irrational jealousy continued as her adversaries relaxed on the sofa wrapped around each other, oblivious to their state of undress. Rochefort's shirt was unbuttoned revealing a faintly scarred chest while she could see that Milady's shoulder had a smattering of freckles, the other kept hidden. Her dainty bare feet rested on the arm of the sofa, twitching contentedly every time he nuzzled her neck.

Constance snuck back to the bedroom and sat in silence.


	7. Chapter 7

Not knowing how long she would be there, Constance closed her eyes and conjured up the image of d'_Artagnan_. Half an hour passed without her knowledge, still dreaming in her head when soft footsteps and a creak of the bed alerted Constance to another's presence. She opened her eyes with a start, to more pitch black.

'Jealous?' Enquired a silky voice out of the darkness.

'Of what?'

'I've known Rochefort for a very long time. We work as a team.'

'Does that mean sleeping with each other?'

'Occasionally. Does it bother you?'

Constance hesitated. 'And if it does?'

'Seeing as you are involved in an affair with a younger man behind your husband's back, I don't see what issue you can possibly have with my relationships.'

Constance realised she had been caught out.

She'd thought of her love for d'_Artagnan__ as pure but when it was set out like that, perhaps it wasn't what she'd thought it was. She'd always thought that women like Milady were the ones to have illicit and turbulent affairs because they were naturally restless and devious, not decent ladies like her. Her affair was surely better than anything Milady could have, or was she wrong?_

_Did that mean she was just as bad? Or did it mean that Milady was once good? Or perhaps they were both similar in a way? Were all women this complex? Constance had no way of knowing for sure, being a shy creature with few friends. This woman was the most puzzling person she'd ever met. She needed to hate her and the danger she exuded. But there was also something thrilling, something exhilarating about being near her. Nothing good should come of this character but like so many people, Constance was just another person to fall under the charms of this wily woman._

Milady stroked a finger against her cheek and Constance closed her eyes, savouring the sensation of being touched. Imagining d'Artagnan doing it, she could almost pretend that this was their last meeting all over again, in the midnight garden.

'Does he kiss you like he means it?'

'Always.'

'How do you know he means it?'

'I just know.' Constance spoke with the conviction of one in love. The other woman recognised it and sighed inwardly, for she had once known this fascination with love for a man and was ill prepared for the ruin it had brought her. Constance sensed the sombre mood and snapped out of her reverie long enough to feel curious about what that meant. But there was to be no explanation, no divulging of personal details for the lady composed herself once more. Running her fingers over the girl's mouth curiously, Milady decided to push the boundaries. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to the other lightly, keeping her hold. Constance, caught by surprise, didn't resist; her mind was still on her lover. Resting her head on the pillow, she relaxed as the warm hands (strange for she thought such fair smooth hands should be cold as ice) stroked her face and moved down to her neck, those lips seeking hers like a breath of air, that spicy scent of her hair and skin enveloping her into the shadows, giving a luxurious sensation to this altogether odd situation.


	8. Chapter 8

They lay there, Constance's head laid on her gaoler's breast. It was surreal but strangely comforting. Milady's hands gently stroked her hair, twirling strands of it around her fingers in contemplative silence. This is how Rochefort found them half an hour later, like mother and child.

'If I had known you'd prefer to spend the night with someone else, I would have left ages ago' he joked, mildly discomforted by the sight. Milady opened her eyes in amusement.

'It's nothing personal. You're still my first choice. I was just getting to know our little friend here.'

Rochefort smiled grimly, knowing that it could come to no good. Constance was still asleep, not hearing a word of their conversation. He leaned forward and quietly asked about the plan.

'We'll transport her somewhere her darling playboy can't find her easily.'

'She won't be harmed?'

'Not at all. She needs to be alive for the ransom to work.'

Milady noted the relief that her partner in crime visibly showed upon this. She had a feeling that he wouldn't take Constance's death lightly, as the one responsible for bringing her here. Putting his mind to rest was necessary as well as truth; she had no intention of doing any harm to the girl. She hoped their prisoner wouldn't make things difficult for herself or something might just happen.


	9. Chapter 9

Constance woke up in the now familiar bed feeling deliciously warm and comfortable. Early daylight filtered through the red curtains, casting a glow around the room. She hadn't noticed the colour in the night. Climbing out of bed, she went over to the curtains and peeked out. She didn't recognise the landscape; it looked unlike Paris as she knew it. She must be out in the countryside. Hearing footsteps, she turned to see Milady in the doorway holding a cup.

'You don't know where you are; don't bother trying to find out.'

Constance sighed and accepted the cup of tea, crestfallen. Sitting on the bed sipping, a knock on the door made her look up hopefully. Milady bade him enter and Rochefort strode in, wearing his travelling cloak. Milady noticed the eagerness in the girl's face and dispelled it with a simple 'you're going nowhere.' She realised straight away the night before how much Constance relied on Rochefort.

Rochefort glanced sideways and shrugged. He had a few things to do and didn't intend on leaving the prisoner with Milady for the day. She also had jobs to do, particularly in the evening and he would take her place when he came back. He spoke to Constance softly. 'I'll be back in the afternoon. Don't try to escape or you'll make the situation worse.'

Constance's heart sank at these words but she consoled herself with the thought that they hadn't harmed her yet. Rochefort at least didn't want to and even Milady hadn't done anything bad to her. Not even when she had the chance last night...


	10. Chapter 10

Milady made herself comfortable on the chaise longue and started filing her nails. Constance couldn't help observing this perfect figure; her delicate turquoise silk dressing gown, a glimpse of slender legs underneath, those elegant fingers. How odd that someone so steely in purpose could have such a soft touch. Try as she might, Constance couldn't put the atmosphere of last night out of her head. She knew Milady was manipulating her but as much as she tried to turn away, she couldn't. She was fascinated by her. Such a beautiful woman possessing a heart of steel and a soul of shadow. She hid it well among company as she must but she needed it for her job.

Constance was a simple lady, sweet and unaffected. Her job in life was to be a wife and in appearance she was, but her husband being the type of man to be away most of the time, she had got rather distracted by the dashing young lad that now called himself her lover. If her husband could realise what a trial it is for such a lovely young thing to be left alone much of time, he would have taken more care to be home more often.

As different as the two women were, there were a few things they had in common, unnoticed by the younger until now, their connection being the men they both consorted with. D'artagnan was the obvious choice as he had been foolish to dally with both of them, the thorn between two roses. He had managed to lodge himself deeply in the heart of Constance who felt his affections daily. Milady was over his charm and well shot of him. He had yet to learn about the ways of the world. But Rochefort was another man to contend with. Both of them felt strongly about the mysterious Rochefort. He was a man with a shady past and subtle nuance about him. Constance wanted to know about him and Milady knew more than she should do about her colleague. And so it began.


	11. Chapter 11

'What do you know of him?' asked Constance curiously. Milady took out a glass nail file and started shaping her already perfect nails. She shrugged.

'His family are minor nobility. He was the youngest son and stood to inherit little. He took off on his own after his mother died and does as he wishes.'

'Why?'

'He's not made for respectable society it seems.'

Constance's eyes asked the same question. Milady met them and answered shortly. 'His mother's origin was somewhat confusing. There was a possibility that she was illegitimate, but it could not be proved. She was the second wife and Rochefort was her only child, making him half brother to his siblings. It was enough to consider him inappropriate to play lord of the manor. Rochefort wouldn't wait around to be continually snubbed and he's been living as he pleases ever since.'

'How long for?'

'A few years.'

'And if he is in some way illegitimate?'

'Does it matter? It isn't detrimental to his person in the least. He's not a criminal just by way of his birth.'

Constance turned this over in her mind. He seemed like a gentleman to her. But what did she know of outlaws? She was the only daughter of loving parents, carefully sheltered and raised to be the perfect wife. She knew nothing of the shady heart of this underworld, how it could nurture hate and greed as tenderly as a baby in its cradle. Criminals came from the underclass, everyone knew that. She hadn't realised that people from the respectable classes could descend to this level. Bit by bit her innocence was being stripped away and she next posed a question that she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer to, partly because she didn't want Rochefort to be the man she didn't see him as.

'What is he like? As a person?'

Milady wasn't surprised at the question; she could see that Constance wasn't the timid thing she initially seemed to be.

'As you might have noticed, he tends to be reserved and quiet. One of those people where you don't always know what they're thinking.' Much like Milady, thought Constance. In the time she'd spent here, Milady was the most mysterious person she'd ever met. Rochefort she thought was more straightforward. But at Milady's words struck doubt in her heart. Was he really as uncomplicated?

'And?'

Milady smiled at her. 'And he likes fine red wine and pretty women. That is all you need to know.'

Constance realised that she was being complimented in a way. Rochefort was protecting her, was he not? He must have thought she was worth it, at least for her face. She planned to ask a few more questions but kept it for later. She wanted to know the characters of her captors. Taking up an unfinished sampler, she began to embroider, trying to take her mind off her imprisonment.


	12. Chapter 12

Her chance came when Rochefort took over the duty of keeping her occupied.

'What do you know of Milady?' she enquired casually, whilst threading her needle.

He chuckled. 'What has she been telling you? That she's royalty? Don't fall for it.'

'She didn't tell me that.' Constance didn't say that she had thought it once before. The elegance of Milady nodded to a noble upbringing.

'She's from a peasant family.'

'How is she so?'

'She's a quick learner. She knows how to act as if she was born into nobility. She's been doing it for so long it's natural for her. She was married to a nobleman once. A Count.'

Constance could picture it well. 'Did he die and leave her plenty of riches? She looks well dressed.'

'Not quite.' He fell silent and continued whittling a piece of wood with his knife. Concentrating on a tricky corner, he didn't say anything. Constance pondered on this. Continued.

'Are they separated? How come?' Rochefort gave no notice that he heard. They sat in silence for a while.

'It's complicated' he replied a little later. 'It's nobody's business but her own.'

Constance could see that he knew more than he was telling. Her curiosity was piqued as she picked up on the way he had said it. Like many people were demanding to know. Like she was doing, in a way. It seemed like Milady had some explaining to do.

'Never complain, never explain. That's how she sees it.' Rochefort spoke as if he was reading her mind.

'That says something about a person.' Constance threaded her needle and began another line of stitches. Slowly but surely, the shape of a lily was appearing on the cloth. Constance added purple thread to the petal she was embroidering. She risked a glance at Rochefort, at the way he sat like an eagle on a crag, his dark brooding face looking at the window. Was he picturing her out on the streets? What could she be doing there at this time of the evening? He snapped his gaze to her and as much as she tried, she couldn't decipher the look unfurling in those eyes.

'Do you care for her?' The words were soft, almost inaudible. Rochefort looked at her in slight surprise. 'She's not what you think.'

'I'm supposed think of her as a pillar of society?'

'You are no different to the others, condemning once you know the nature of her business. That means you condemn me with her.'

Constance shook her head. 'Not you. You're different' she pleaded.

'I am no different. You imagine me so because I have kept you safe. Milady would do the same if she needed to. I have no way of continuing doing so much longer. We don't have much time.'

Cold fear slithered down her spine and stole into her heart. 'Time for what?' Her voice shook and she wished this was a nightmare she could wake up from.

Rochefort knew that he'd said too much. He shook his head.

'What will Milady do to me?'

'She won't harm you.'

Constance found it hard to believe. 'She hates me. She thinks I'm trying to steal you from her.'

Rochefort stared at her for a minute and unable to think about what this meant, started laughing.

'Milady and I?'

Constance blushed fiery red. She hadn't meant to say that but she didn't realise how silly it sounded out of her head. Like she had a claim on Rochefort!

'You have no need to feel jealous of Milady. She and I are not involved this way' he bemusedly explained.

'But I saw the both of you together last night' she protested, hating herself for blurting out her observations.

'We keep each other company. You think either of us have time or opportunity to cultivate a relationship with anyone? We both live like hermits but on occasion. And that suits us fine.'

Constance felt foolish. Burying her head in her embroidery, she began stitching with trembling fingers. How ridiculous he must think her to be!

'She used to be like you. A young girl, thinking she was in love. But it brought her ruin.'

Constance looked up in surprise. Rochefort was looking at her intently. Her heart began to quicken.

'What do you mean? d'Artagnan are I in love.'

'If you say so.'

She was speechless. How could he know anything about their relationship? She suddenly felt furious.

'You know nothing about us! I'm not like Milady, using men and tossing them aside for her convenience.'

Rochefort leaned forward threateningly.

'You think you've got the measure of her, think again. Or me, for that matter.'

Constance had barely time to puzzle over these words when she registered the soft footsteps coming up the stairs. She realised that Rochefort had given her the hint that Milady had a lot to hide. But nothing she could use against her. Rochefort wouldn't tell another person's secrets that easily.


	13. Chapter 13

'She knows nothing?'

'She's never been outside Paris. She won't know a thing.'

Constance was asleep, unaware of the plans being made for her. A Carmelite convent was her proposed destination and her captors were discussing their options.

'All we have to do is transport her to it.'

'And then what?'

'Keep her there.'

'I meant, what is going to happen next?'

Milady slid her arm inside his and leaned her head on his shoulder. 'Do you care what happens to her?' She whispered.

He had admitted it already. He knew she knew, damn her. How could he explain that he felt something different to how he would normally? He just wanted to protect her.

'This is a way of protecting her.' Once again, she could read his mind. Rochefort had done his part, bringing her to the midway point and she was going to take over the rest. He should be relieved he could leave it but he almost didn't want to. He wanted to know that she would be safe.

Milady sighed. 'What do you want to do, marry her?' She knew that wasn't his aim.

He glared at her. 'Definitely not. But I want to know that she's safe. And not just for the time being. She doesn't deserve being a pawn in Richelieu's game. None of us should be, you know that.'

She knew. But there was no use in fighting it. They had been in the Cardinal's service for too long to absolve themselves of blame. If they were caught, it would be the end of all of them. And Richelieu could use others, less competent but more willing to do the job.

Ever resourceful, she could think of a solution to Rochefort's wish to keep the girl safe. It wasn't preferable, if it would be found out, their heads would be on the chopping block. But they went back a long way and they had worked together to get each other out of tricky situations.

'I doubt many people would see our side of the situation' she replied drily, her mind whirring with the possibilities.

'Do me this favour. Please make sure she ends up safe and alive.' He stipulated alive because Milady's version of safe tended to veer towards ensuring the death of a captor. 'She needs to be alive for the plan to work.'

'What happens when the lad comes to get her and the plan goes as it should? What then? We've got both of them captive and the musketeers will be one more step defeated and then what? What's the next step?'

She realised that he was right. She would have to keep the girl in line even in hiding? She began to revise the plan. He could sense that she had an idea but he didn't press it. Soon she would present it to him in such a way it would be impossible to refuse. However farfetched, she would always make it work. She was a genius at subterfuge and deception.

He put his trust in her.


	14. Chapter 14

'Are you sure she won't be missed?'

They were standing near the horse, blowing on their hands in the cool night. The carriage housed the sleeping girl.

'I've sorted it.'

'So she'll be fine?' He asked. He knew he was being selfish but his concern for Constance overruled his usual common sense. Milady had hinted that people were disposable. He hoped it wasn't Constance's life that was being disposed of.

She turned to face him, eyes watchful for any overhead words. 'I can only take her so far, Rochefort. Once she gets past a certain point she has only herself to rely on. You know that she must never come back.'

Rochefort felt a dread stealing over him. 'Are you sure she will be able to cope?'

She glared at him. 'I've been in exile for many years prior to this, Rochefort and it has done me no harm. I've learned to look after myself and she will too. I'm sure she has strength that has yet to emerge. She won't be the delicate little flower if she uses her wits and employs some courage.'

That was telling. Rochefort knew that Milady made a show of being a delicate little flower in public but any man brave or misfortunate enough to encounter her in private, more fool him. Milady was a tigeress all the while she manipulated her public image ruthlessly. She knew what it was to live a lie and maintain it flawlessly; she had been doing so almost her whole life. It had been necessary. Constance in comparison had always been a simple creature and now she would have to deal in deception for the rest of her life, if this plan worked out.

Inside the carriage, Constance listened. She wasn't asleep as they thought she was. But hearing this had aroused her suspicion and she could sit still no more. Throwing aside the drapes from the window, she looked out, attracting the attention of Rochefort who was still trying to get information out of his companion. He walked to her side immediately.

'She won't hurt me, will she?' She implored to her rescuer. Milady rolled her eyes and moved to the horse that was now starting to whinny. He took her petite hands in his. 'She is sending you somewhere you can be safe. But you'll have to run for your life.'

'How do you know she won't send me to the convent to be killed?' She whispered. Rochefort rested his chin on her hands, a sign of trust. He didn't realise she had heard the plan.

'You won't be going there. There is a boat leaving at midday tomorrow, for England. That is where you will be.'

She drew deep breaths to steady herself and to stop the tears from falling. Leave her beloved France? To be exiled from her homeland possibly forever? How impossibly cruel.

'You get on that boat and you find a new life. Forget all of this because you will not be safe here.'

She had to believe him. At this moment, he was all she had left. She squeezed his hands in appreciation, not trusting herself to speak.

'Ready when you are.'

He turned to Milady and asked her one more time. 'You promise she'll be safe?' The answer was in the nod. She had given her word. Constance wouldn't be harmed. But someone else had to go in her place. Someone that nobody would miss. And she knew just the girl to use.

She leaned over to the waiting girl and cupped her chin in her palm. Those tawny eyes mesmerised and taunted Constance.

'Remember, where you are going and from now on, you answer to the name of Kitty. Kitty whatever you like. Do you understand? Constance Bonacieux does not exist anymore. In a few years time you could change to be anyone you wish, especially if you marry a rich man in another country.'

'What of my husband? And d'Artagnan?'

'Forget them. They will marry elsewhere. If you're wise, you will too.'

Constance didn't want to think of d'Artagnan being with someone else. There was also the matter of her husband. Although he was an inconsiderate man, she was still married to him, and both of them marrying another would mean an unholy state of matrimony.

'But neither of us can marry another while we are alive.'

'He thinks you are dead, that makes it easier for both of you.'

'But that's wrong.' Constance was horrified. 'All of this is wrong.'

'All of it has been done before and will be done again.'

That shut the girl up as she realised that Milady was talking about her own circumstances, warning her that she was about to embark on the same kind of life. Constance said no more to her. She simply buried her face in the drape. Rochefort led his co-conspirator a few yards away.

'What of her replacement?' He asked softly. For now he knew of how one girl would be switched for another in the convent. Her maid must be worthless to suffer such a fate. 'd'Artagnan will know it's not Constance in the convent once he sees her.'

Milady's face expressed her spite. 'd'Artagnan has the misfortune of knowing her also. That will keep him quiet for a while. You have the choice. To save one, you must sacrifice the other. Make your mind up.'

She knew his answer before she'd finished speaking. They returned in silence. Constance turned to Rochefort.

'It looks like this is goodbye.'

He nodded, not one for sentiment but strangely mournful. He had always tried to avoid this kind of farewells. Leaving his family home, he had just saddled up his horse and rode away, never looking back. It suited him. This was a most unusual occurrence.

He leaned forward and kissed her hand. 'Goodbye Constance.' He needed to say nothing more. The single tear streaking her face was her final response before the coachman was called over and the journey was about to start, all within the minute.

'Goodbye, sweet child' whispered Milady mockingly at his side. Rochefort ignored this, focusing only on the horse and carriage leading her away from him. She left him with the lasting memory of her white scarf waving out of the window as the coach rode on through the night to her final destination of her home country. A signal just for him. Something he would never forget.


End file.
